So... it had been a few years since I'd seen the dentist. (Like before Vivi was conceived to be exact) Initially, I was kind of dreading the consequences of such neglect to my "pearly whites"...errrr "pearly off-white/slightly yellowed from coffee" teeth. And sure enough, first visit, WITHOUT even taking an x-ray (because of pregnancy) he spotted 3 cavities in 3 totally different places which would constitute 3 different visits for drilling, filling, and the like. "CRAP!", I thought. This is going to really stink. So, I schedule the first of the three meetings with the Dr. and left kicking myself (actually just mentally chastising myself as doing anything that might require any more athletic prowess than walking may or may not result in serious injury). Seriously. Getting up after sitting for about 30 minutes requires slow and strategic movement. I look like a geriatric. Can anyone say "ligament stretching"? HELLO!
The first visit rolls around. Sitter for Vivi? Check. Brush, floss, gargle? Check. Clear of boogers? Check. Eyebrows tweezed? Check. Mustache plucked? Check. Spritz of very light perfume to help mask possible death breath of dentist or assistant? Check. No garlic, onion, coffee, spinach, anchovy, or blue cheese funky breath lingering from last night's dinner? Check. Phew... so much to think about. So there I am in the waiting room looking and smelling better than I probably had in WEEKS. Anyone who is not socially handicapped and has any self awareness at ALL knows that you must be on top of your hygienic game in every possible arena as going to the dentist puts you physically closer to perfect strangers than even a regular doctor's visit.
So I'm sitting there... cozy waiting room with magazines GALORE! Comfy chair... perfectly quiet. Alone... and I realize. This is like an oasis... a mini vacation in disguise. The desire for me to get in and get out as quickly as possible melted away as I realized I'd read three quarters of an article on womens' health with no interruption! I really couldn't recall the last time this had happened. Soon the nice dental assistant asked me to come to the back... they were ready for me. I walk back... they put me in a nice reclining chair (still had my magazine) and then THEY put a bib on ME!?! "Interesting" I thought. And what's this??? I look up and see a t.v. on a cooking channel! Eureka! I'm in heaven. They were running a few minutes behind and kept coming in to apologize for the wait... each time they came in I grew increasingly annoyed. NOT because I was waiting but because they kept interrupting my damn show! I wanted to say, "could you just shut up!" But I smiled politely and said, "No, worries."
Then the doc comes in... giant needle in hand. Little pinch here, little pull there and he's off again saying, "let's just give that a few minutes to work it's magic". I sat there with a crooked smile (from already feeling numb) and thought "thith ith friggin thweet! Pleath thtay gone ath long ath you need to". I continued to watch my show as I drooled onto my bib. "Thith ith alright", I thought. I even thought about fibbing a little and telling him I wasn't quite numb when he came back in... but the fact that the right side of my face was now resting in my cleavage probably gave me away. CURSES! He began to do his thing and drill! Mists of water and bits of tooth were flying everywhere. All I could think of was tilting my head just right so as to be able to see the t.v. between his right ear and the top of his hand doing the work. I think he thought I was pulling away because I didn't like the drilling... quite the contrary, I enjoy somebody grooming me even if it is using a mini jackhammer on my chompers so aggressively it makes my brain rattle... at least someone is grooming ME! I just wanted to see my show. Then the inevitable, "tilt your head towards me please". DANG IT!!!! I was just about to find out how to make the perfect pesto and brie or d' oeuvre!!
I love when the dentist leans in really close and I can literally see my tonsils in his little safety glasses... I always try to count the number of stray eyebrow hairs and nose hairs to pass the time. I'm sure he thinks I'm psychotic... either that or trying to make a pass at him. Nope, just counting rogue hairs, my friend. They finished their business and my brief respite from mommy responsibilities came to a screeching halt as I left my recliner. It was a sad moment. But, as I walked to the front I thought to myself, "Two more vithits... yetttthhhh." I was probably the perkiest patient they'd had in awhile. I left looking forward to more uninterrupted articles, cooking shows, and reclining chairs. Weird, huh?
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